Be Quick or Be Dead
by PADavis
Summary: Winslow, Arizona is a home to many things. Some more unexpected than others. And larger. Wal-Marts, communes, water rights and Hindu deities. Rated T for language.
1. That hippie place The whatchamacallit

First appeared in Blood Brothers 3, copyright Gold'n Lily Press.

This is the first time I had a story professionally edited. It was a fantastic experience. Thank you, Jeanne! This is chapter 1 of 4.

* * *

They were coming from the east out of Richardson, following a lead from Dad's journal, shooting northwest to catch I-40 and follow it through Texas and New Mexico to Arizona. Ed and Harry had maneuvered their Gremlin and camper out of the trailer park and toward Los Angeles two days before, but it only took Sam and Dean a little over a day to pass them. The Gremlin was parked at a rest stop next to the highway.

Dean circled around and they drove by again. Ed and Harry were surrounded by bags, boxes, suitcases, and what Dean recognized as the carpet from the floor of the car. Ed was trying to use a crowbar to remove the backseat.

Sam shrugged. "They must not like fish."

Dean laughed so hard, he almost drove them off the road.

Once they crossed into Arizona and reached the Petrified Forest National Park, Dean reached over and tapped the map on the seat between them. "Winslow, Arizona? Come on, Sam, sing it with me. '_And such a fine sight to see. It's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowing down to take a look at me…**'**_" Dean sang off-key, tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel before leaning over to beat out the time on Sam's shoulder.

"I get it, I get it, but please, God, no _Eagles_." Sam caught Dean's hand, shoved it back toward the steering wheel, and looked up from the map. "Almost all the deaths have been within a thirty-mile radius of Winslow."

"Any connection between the victims?"

"Nothing that's jumping out at me. A lot of them were involved in real estate. Some business owners. Like I said, nothing apparent."

"What kind of businesses?"

"Manufacturing, mostly, some mining, a pig farmer, and the owner of a New Age gift shop."

"Huh." Dean pursed his lips and thought for a few minutes. "We'll— well, _you'll**—**_have to hit the library as soon as we get to Winslow. But we're stopping in Holbrook tonight."

Sam flipped through his legal pad. "Holbrook? The closest death to Holbrook that could possibly be related was three years ago in Joseph City. That's about eleven miles farther west." He glanced over at Dean. "What's in Holbrook?"

"Just the best motel ever. You probably don't remember, but we stayed there when you were five going on six. Dad was after an efrit— Anyway, you loved it. You wouldn't take the t-shirt off for a week. I had to bribe you to take it off before your bath. Hell, I had to pull it off you when you were asleep just so I could wash it."

"How did I get a t-shirt?"

Dean wiggled his fingers. "Lifted it right before we left."

Glancing over, he saw Sam turn to look out the side window. He never could figure out if the kid closed down like that because he remembered so little of his childhood, or because he didn't like being reminded that his big brother had changed his diapers. And, yeah, shoplifted sometimes, but it'd kept his brother's tiny ass in food and clothes. There were times Dean was positive Sam wished he had sprung into existence at eighteen, registering for classes at Stanford.

Sam spoke, startling him. "So tell me about the motel."

Dean grinned and gunned the engine. "You might recognize it."

He turned off I-40 and drove south on Navajo Boulevard for a couple of miles before negotiating a right turn onto Hopi Road. Dean glanced over at Sam as the motel came into view. The look on his face was priceless.

"Holy crap, Dean. Tee-pees? Cement tee-pees?"

"The Wig-Wam Motel. Remember?"

"Do I ever. We stayed toward the back right, in the corner. The train ran right behind it. We would count cars, and wave at the engineers."

Dean pulled into the parking lot. "You loved this place. We had to play Cowboys and Indians every single day."

Sam groaned. "Maybe they'll be booked."

"What? The Vacancy sign is lit. I'll even ask for a 'Wam in the corner."

"It's embarrassing. And the kitsch might rub off on the car."

"Never. We'll get a room in Winslow tomorrow, but I've been driving all day." Dean got out of the car and stretched. "Let's get a cone of our own."

* * *

Two days later, they were staking out the house of a shaman. In the desert. During the day. The heat was unbelievable, sucking the life out of the landscape and leaching the color from everything Dean could see. The world was brown, yellow, and gray. Looking away from the small group of houses below them and back toward the desert, it was easy to believe they were hundreds of miles from civilization, instead of fifteen miles southwest of Winslow.

"And people move here why, again?"

Sam snorted, made a face, and took another gulp of water before answering. "No pollen." He adjusted one arm to bring it back into the shade.

"And dying of heatstroke is so much more attractive. Geez, Sam. It's only ten o'clock in the morning. We'll die out here long before the guy gets back." Dean heard a ping from the Impala and cranked his head around to inspect it. "My girl is suffering. She wasn't meant for heat like this."

Sam lowered the binoculars and cut his eyes toward Dean. "Will you stop worrying about the car for once?"

"Blasphemer." This time the noise was more of a hiss. "What the hell was that?" Dean got up and popped the hood. "Talk to me, sweetheart, tell me where it hurts," he cooed. "Was Sammy mean to you again?" Everything in the engine compartment looked as fine as precision car parts could look when they were almost glowing with heat. Dean stepped back to check the exterior of the car. "God damn it. We have a flat." He looked at Sam, who was still intent on the riverbed and the house below them. "I have to change the tire, Sam." He waited a beat. "No need to offer to help, I'm good. And the spare's fine. I filled it with pie yesterday." He grinned and flicked a pebble at Sam's head, laughing when Sam jumped and slapped at the back of his neck. "Sam, changing tire here. Tell me when you see something."

Sam raised a single finger in his direction, mopped his face, and turned back to surveillance.

Dean had enough time to loosen the lug nuts and jack up the car before Sam hissed, "He's here."

Dean was next to Sam in a heartbeat, binoculars up. "There you are, Mr. John Smith. Okay, like we discussed. You to the right and the front door. Knock. I'll take the back."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I'm not an eight-year-old. I'm twenty-three. I remember the plan." He stood and began angling down the slope, two fingers circling to the left, then pointing up.

Maybe the kid remembered more than he let on. Dean had taught him signals years ago. Dropping down the side of the arroyo, he flanked Sam as he approached the front of the house. Dean angled toward the back, ducking past the windows, and stood by the back door. When he heard Sam knock at the front, Dean pressed his ear to the inset glass. He counted to ten and heard Sam knock again.

"Hello? Is someone home? I need some help."

Dean heard a rustle and footsteps moving away from him but waited to reach for the door handle until he heard Sam say loudly, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I could use your help."

The knob turned easily in his hand, the door latch opening in almost perfect silence. Dean, too, moved in silence, easing himself into the kitchen, and catfooted toward the front door. The shaman muttered something in reply to Sam, and then Dean was pulling him away from the door and pressing the Colt's muzzle under the man's ear.

"Don't move. Don't talk. Don't even think. No spell work." Dean looked down. The guy had one hand shoved deep into his pocket. Holding his gun in place, Dean grabbed the man's arm and yanked. "What have you got, freak?"

After Sam had stepped fully into the house and kicked the door closed behind him, Dean jerked his chin toward the man's hand. "John-boy here has something. Don't know what he was doing with it."

Sam trained his gun at a point between Smith's eyes and used his free hand to twist the man's wrist. When the shaman tried to jerk back, Sam smiled grimly. "I'm going to get that one way or another. Either let go, or I'll break each one of your fingers. Your choice."

The threat worked, mostly because Smith couldn't see Dean smiling at Sam's bravado. The man dropped a small leather bag to the floor.

Sam secured his gun and bent to pull a roll of duct tape out of his duffel. Ripping off a piece, he slapped it over the shaman's mouth, and pushed the man onto a chair before binding his hands and attaching him to the chair with several twists of tape.

Seated, bound, and gagged, the shaman jerked against the restraints, bouncing the chair an inch across the floor. Dean pushed his knee with one foot. "Hold still, John." He looked at Sam. "Let's find what we came here for and get out."

Sam cut his eyes down to the bag. "We should probably check that first." Frowning, he picked up the leather bag with the tips of two fingers, before almost throwing it onto a side table. Dean watched Sam root through his duffel and hold up a pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit.

"It's not going to explode. Just cut it open." Hearing the chair scrape against the floor again, he glared at Smith. "What?" Turning back to Sam, he said, "Probably not going to explode, but Snake Man here seems nervous. Maybe we should just burn it." This time he heard a muffled grunt. "Maybe _**I**_ should just burn it."

Sam ignored the exchange and fiddled the bag open with a pen before he began cautiously moving the contents around with the tweezers. The man moaned behind the tape as Dean leaned a little closer.

"So what's in there?"

"Bones, teeth, some scales." Sam flipped the leather over. "The bag is made of snakeskin." He selected one large tooth and inspected it. "Got to be a snake, a pit viper. You can see the track for the venom. The bones are probably a snake's, too." His eyebrows went up. He held out something small and faceted and looked at the bound man. "Is this a garnet?" The man shook his head. "No? A ruby?"

Dean kicked the chair leg. "Answer him."

Smith nodded.

Sam gingerly turned the bones over. "Are these from a rattlesnake?" The shaman's eyes got wide above the gag but he didn't move. Sighing in frustration, Sam stood and pushed the bag away with the tweezers. "We'll burn this before we go. Let's check the house."

After an hour of searching, they had to admit defeat. If this guy was a Hopi sorcerer, he wasn't hiding anything there. They stood in the kitchen, talking in low voices, while keeping a close tab on the bound man in the next room.

Dean started to fidget, picking up and inspecting things on the counters. "We know this guy is hip-deep into whatever is going on around here. What are we missing?"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "He went to the Hopi reservation. He went to the guy's house last night. He was doing a ritual. He used sage and silver. We watched him. It all points to Hopi magic, but if it is, where are the kachinas? Where's anything?"

"He went to work, to the grocery store, to that hippie place. The whatchamacallit."

"The ashram?"

"Yeah, the ashram near Sedona, and to the target's house. We saw the security footage of him near some of last year's victims." Dean picked up a decorative canister, opened the lid, and sniffed the contents. He screwed up his nose and slapped the lid back on. "We know it's him and we know he's using snakes to kill people."

"The coroners' reports all say the neurotoxin in the venom caused paralysis and death. That should mean a Mojave rattlesnake. It's the only pit viper in Arizona with that kind of venom. But Smith's reaction says it isn't. We have the lore, but every time we find something, it doesn't fit. A red gemstone in Arizona should be a garnet. The guy says it's a ruby." Sam groaned. "We've got to do more research. No way this is Hopi magic."

They both turned their heads at a noise from the front room. The man had bounced the chair again, but otherwise, the house was still.

"We need to talk to him." Dean turned to walk into the living room, when the door in front of him slammed closed, surprising him into a step backward. "What the hell?" He tried the door. "You stay here and keep trying. I'll go around front."

"Dean, wait—"

"Just keep trying the door!" Dean hared around the house and found the front door standing open. A rustling noise on the far side of the house brought him up short.

"Sam! Come around the front!" Backing away from the house, he drew his gun and swiveled his head, scanning the area. Movement inside the house brought his eyes back to the open door. "Sam! Where are you?"

Sam appeared in the doorway. "Come here."

"I need to recon. Now that Smith's loose, he's probably cooking up some kind of spell."

"He didn't get loose. He's still in the chair. Just come inside, Dean, _now_."

Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. If the noise he heard wasn't the shaman— He reached the front door in several running jumps, then turned and checked the front yard. "Think there's a snake," he gulped in some air, "here?" When Sam didn't answer, Dean joined him to stand in front of the bound man. Sam pointed at Smith's arm where a bite was oozing blood and clear bile.

Dean ripped the tape off the man's mouth. "What happened? What got in here?"

"What kind of snake did this?"

Smith's eyes slid from Dean to Sam. His mouth opened, but he couldn't seem to get enough breath to answer. In what looked like a superhuman effort, the man whispered, "Nāga. Nāga was here." Veins were beginning to stand out from the man's neck, his eyes starting to bulge from their sockets.

Dean glanced at his brother. "Is there anything we can do? Call 911?" Looking back at Smith, he breathed out. "I think it's too late."

Sam checked for a pulse and nodded.

Dean took a few steps back. "How can he be dead so fast? I thought it took longer than three minutes?"

"I don't know. And what's a nāga?"

Dean grabbed a couple of dishtowels from the kitchen. "Hell if I know. We need to wipe this place down before we leave. I'll untie him. You start on the other rooms. And don't forget the back door."

As they left the house to climb back to the Impala, Dean said, "I still have to change the tire. Don't let some snake bite me."

"I'll cover you." Sam suddenly looked up. "Did you say something about pie earlier?"

* * *

TBC Friday


	2. It was getting to be as bad as Florida

The ashram was peaceful, starkly beautiful, and chock-full of granola-eating lunatics. Sam would probably fit right in. Truthfully, Sam should have been the one scouting out the ashram, but they'd been researching for twenty-four hours and Dean had really needed to get out and do something before his brain melted.

He couldn't decide if there was too much or too little information about nāgas for their line of work. Nāgas were Buddhist earth spirits. Or they were Hindu demons. Or they were protective demigods. They were real. They were imaginary. They were snakes, or half-man, half-snake, or people with snake-like qualities. Or they were animals with human qualities. Dean was looking for a wall to run his head into just as Sam started hitting his research mojo stride.

All the nāga varieties had two things in common: they were associated with water and waterways, and they would punish with skin diseases those humans who were "disrespectful" of the environment. The problem, of course, was that they were in a desert and there wasn't a rash in sight. When Sam started researching the Little Colorado River, which, Dean had repeatedly and, in his opinion, very patiently pointed out, didn't go near half the murder sites, Sam invited him to return to the library for more books. Sam even opened the motel room door and handed him the car keys.

Dean was glad to get out; he did his best thinking when he was on his feet, anyway. Always had. But instead of the library, he elected to visit Mr. Smith's Buddhist ashram in Sedona which had suddenly become the most suspicious place on their list.

One thing was for sure: the ashram was the proverbial jackpot. Dean had glanced through the array of pamphlets laid out in the visitor's area, and read the framed articles displayed on the walls, and he could almost feel things dropping into place.

He pulled out his cell phone and thumbed speed dial one. And got Sam's voice mail. "Dude. I need you to check a couple of names for me." Dean almost jumped when he felt something brush past his back. It was a smiling hippie chick who pointed at a sign proclaiming _No Cell Phone Use_.

She looked at him pityingly. "We don't allow those here. They emit harmful radiation and disturb the balance of the ashram."

Dean smiled back and put the phone in his pocket. "Sorry, I missed the sign. Just calling my brother. He'll love it here. Can I ask you a few questions?" He waved toward the display of articles.

She was still smiling, but her expression became hard to read. "You'll need to wait for the orientation." She handed him a flyer. "The next one is tomorrow. Why don't you leave now and come back with your brother then?" That he could read; her expression was openly condescending. He kept his smile in place and tried again. "Really, I would just like to ask a few questions."

But she was already leaving, motioning another whack-job to follow her, and they both disappeared into a nearby building.

Gathering up at least one of each pamphlet and the framed newspaper articles, he made a break for the car.

Once he was back on 89 heading north toward Flagstaff, he called again. When Sam picked up, Dean tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and held up one of the frames. "I've got an article from the _Flagstaff Daily Sun_. Aren't Vince Maynard and Tom Raines vics from two years ago?" He dropped that article and picked up another. "How about John Bartlett? And Aloysius Smith from Mormon Lake?"

"_Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Victims over the last three years."_

"These articles almost all center on developments and businesses and changes to local water usage."

"_Did you find the books I wanted?"_

"Ah—I didn't actually go to the library."

"_Then where did you get the articles?_"

"Ashram." Dean heard Sam sigh. "Don't get all dramatic. I'm on the way back." He picked up another frame but had to drop it to correct the car back into his lane. "Wait a minute. I've got to pull over. There's some kind of park coming up. Ever hear of Slide Rock?"

"_No. So what are you thinking?" _

"Someone connected to the ashram is targeting the victims and using snakes, nāgas, to kill them because they were screwing around with the water supply." It took a few minutes to find a parking space. "This place is packed. We should come here after the hunt."

"_N__āgas don't usually kill anyone—the most they do is inflict skin disease. Someone must have found a way to control them, point them at victims. Did you find anything __else?"_

Dean picked up a cheerful yellow pamphlet. "August thirtieth is Nāga Panchamī this year. Didn't you say that was a big snake worship day or something?" He could almost feel Sam's spidey sense start to tingle right through the phone.

"_Yeah, I did. __Nāga Panchamī__is a day devoted to the worship of snakes in India. And it's specifically Nāga Devatas or c__obras. __And tomorrow is…"_

"August thirtieth_. _Super. We might need to hit the ashram tonight." Dean went through a few more articles until Sam had everything he could find, then negotiated his way back onto the road. "By the way. What do you worship snakes for?"

"_Riches, knowledge, fame. Protection."_

"Okay, I'm heading back. We'll get our snake gear in order and visit the ashram with a little more firepower. Gonna stop at a WalMart or something on the way in. You need anything?"

"_Yeah. You need laundry detergent since it's your turn and we're out. And socks. Gauze, alcohol, and some pressure bandages. Snake repellent. The usual."_

* * *

Dean hated WalMart in the afternoon. There was only one register open and the line had to be a mile long. WalMart was better at 5:00 a.m., not 5:00 p.m. He looked again at the line in front of him and made a popping noise.

He'd picked up boxers and t-shirts, and Sam's list, resorting to a cart when he'd decided to buy out the store's stock of pelletized snake repellent. Some razors and a two-pound bag of peanut M&Ms landed in the cart as he approached the registers.

Bored, Dean let his mind wander as he shuffled forward with the line, his eyes roaming the store, and he was staring at the front entrance when a set of doors slid open, and stayed open. No one came in, and the doors didn't close. Some noise seeped into the building from the parking lot. One eyebrow quirked.

What was holding the doors open? A few steps out of line got him a glimpse of movement near the floor on the other side of a row of shopping carts.

The woman behind him was creeping forward, like, what, he wasn't going to notice she was trying to cut him out of line? Dean glared at her and she stepped back. Whatever this was could wait until he had new shorts.

That's when the screams started.

Dean dodged to the wall as a mass of people scrambled toward the front doors, crashing into the carts and each other on their way out. Whatever had been coming in must have made it. He darted forward to help a woman get back to her feet, and watched as she made it to the front doors.

The inside of the store was suddenly still and would have been silent if it weren't for the muffled sound of approaching sirens. Dean shoved his cart toward the register, wishing the cashier had stayed long enough to ring him up, and pulled his gun from his waistband. He checked the magazine and found four rounds of regular ammo. Tapping the magazine against the stock for luck, he slid it back home. When he checked his back pocket for an extra magazine, he pulled out something else instead.

Flowers? Shit, he was an idiot. That hippie chick had put something in his pocket when she brushed against him. Grayish leaves, electric blue petals—it was sage. And a silver ring. The bitch had marked him, smiling the whole time.

Thumbing speed dial one, he was talking even as Sam answered. "I'm at WalMart. I was made at the ashram. Got marked, sage flowers in my pocket." Sam was shouting something, but Dean kept going. "And something's in here with me. Pretty sure it's a snake. A really _big_ snake."

"_Get the hell out of there!"_

"The thing is after _me_, Sam. I can't run outside. It'll follow. And the parking lot is full of women and kids."

Sam was saying something, but Dean interrupted. "Maybe whatever killed Smith identified us—I don't know. Just check the room for more flowers. And your clothes. And then get here. It's north of the motel about three miles on the left." He listened again. "You take a right on Berry. If I'm busy when you get here, you can pick up your undies. They're in a cart by register, um, fifteen."

Flipping the phone shut, he moved cautiously farther into the store. Something fell in the southeast corner, and he ghosted in that direction, checking each aisle before moving silently to the next.

Something rustled behind him. He spun but found no target and warily circled a floor-to-ceiling display wall.

His stomach knotted when he heard it. It was absolutely unmistakable. A rattlesnake.

One step forward and there it was, and he put the display back between him and it. Fucking hell, it looked as thick around as one of the Impala's tires. How did he rate a _giant_ snake? In the middle of the friggin' day? Oh, this was all kinds of inconspicuous. He chanced a look around the display. Okay, okay, okay. What could he remember about snakes?

_Rattlesnakes are pit vipers_, Sam had said. They hunted for heat signatures and didn't use their sight or hearing very much. They were probably, maybe, deaf? This could all backfire pretty damn fast, but he had nothing else. Dean took a few steps, keeping the display between him and where the snake had been, because there was no need to test the sight, sound, and heat theory any sooner than he had to. It was time for a fire.

Wigs, lots of wigs, made with artificial and human hair, all very flammable, went into a colorful pile, along with a selection of hats and straw handbags. He lit one of the wigs like a fuse and backed away until he had another display between himself and the fire.

The pile started to smolder and release oily black smoke into the air. Something big moved past him and toward the flames. Once he'd slipped behind another display wall, Dean ran toward the hunting and camping equipment in the back of the store.

He liberated a very sharp machete, a Horton crossbow, and with a nod to the cameras overhead, he finished arming himself by smashing open a locked case, and grabbing cartridges. He loaded his magazine and a few extra, all the time scanning the store ahead of him for movement.

When he heard it again, he was strapping on the machete. A shadow moved across the counter and his blood seemed to freeze solid. He raised his eyes. The snake's head was gently swaying side to side, towering over him by at least a foot. It hissed, flicked its tongue, and coiled around itself, its tail tip vibrating, scales rattling.

Smell. Of course, they used their sense of smell. Dean grabbed his gun and the crossbow and fell backward, firing both up into the neck of the snake as it struck at the air where he'd just been.

The bolt buried itself up to the metal fletching in the snake's jaw, and the bullets blasted holes through the scales of its head and neck. The snake drew back almost faster than his eyes could track, leaving a viscous cloud of black blood billowing above him. It fell in thick drops onto him and the floor.

He scooted on his ass to the end of the counter, eyes darting to both sides and up as he pocketed the empty magazine and slid in a new one. Peering out, he cautiously stood and moved back down the front of the counter to collect a handful of bolts and reload the crossbow. There was a large trail of blood. Now it was just a matter of killing it. He snorted. "Just" was probably not the right word for it.

And why was there always effed up stuff at WalMart? It was getting to be as bad as Florida.

The trail led straight into the toy section. Dean stalked forward, nerves humming, adrenaline pumping so hard, he could hear his heart beating. He took turns shaking out first his left hand, then his right, wiping his palms on the thighs of his jeans. It was all kinds of crazy to be so jumpy, even if it was a freakishly large, possibly demonic, snake.

A rattle shook ahead, and Dean froze. The noise was why he was so jumpy. It must be all the Westerns he'd watched growing up or something, because that rattle was freaking him out. Shaking his head, he slipped to the left, moving carefully through an aisle of spilled sports equipment, hooking up again with the blood trail as it rounded a fifteen foot bicycle rack and came to an abrupt stop. What the hell? Where did it go?

Dean stilled his breathing and strained his ears and made out heard a faint sound, like a groan, a creak maybe, like the noise metal makes under pressure. Like the metal in the bicycle rack if a huge ass snake was on top of it.

He dropped instantly and rolled as the snake struck at him from above, his hair moving in the wind of its passage. Dean scrambled up and backed away, firing again and again into the creature's head and eyes as it followed him. There was a good six feet of snake off the ground and who knew how many feet coiled on the floor.

Ejecting the spent magazine, he put his last crossbow bolt right through its neck before tossing the bow to one side, and reloading his gun.

The snake swayed left and right as Dean backed through the doll aisle, trying to draw the creature toward the rear of the store.

Just as he came to the back wall, it lunged again. Jerking reflexively, he went backward into a cardboard display rack, and down to the floor on his back as boxes skittered and slid across linoleum. He grabbed the display and dragged it back until he could hold it up and in front of him.

The snake struck. It looked like everything was in slow motion. His arms were moving the rack up as the snake's head arced gradually down, its mouth opened impossibly wide. Venom dripped from white fangs as long as his arms.

Then time sped up to freakishly fast. The snake's fangs caught in the cardboard and boxes, but the force of the strike pushed Dean's arms and the display back into his head and chest with enough pressure to force the air out of his lungs and crack his elbows on the floor. He felt a sharp stab in his side, and a sudden burning rush of pain that made his eyes water. Holding the display as tightly as he could with his left hand, Dean brought up the Colt and shot the fucker right in the eye. Three times.

The snake retreated, hissing, whipping its head back and forth, blood flying out in streams over the displays and the floor.

Dean wheezed in a breath and opened his eyes, blinking a few times. There was a cupcake in his face. A cute picture of a cupcake with pink icing. Pushing the display to one side, he pulled himself upright, pressing his hand hard against the wound in his side. When his breathing slowed down, he kicked the gaudy display rack out of his way. Every time he thought his life couldn't get weirder, something like this would happen. He had saved himself from a giant snake with and Easy Bake Oven. Sam would never believe him.

* * *

TBC - Tuesday


	3. You comin', Samantha?

Sam was frantic by the time he parked his stolen Nissan on a access road behind the WalMart. Finding a car to steal in broad daylight had taken forever and he'd arrived to find fire trucks, ambulances, police cruisers, and even some trucks from Animal Control in the lot.

Fortunately, Rescue was sticking by the front doors, leaving the back unmonitored as he climbed the property fence. Looked like no one was in a rush to get back into the store.

He'd brought a silver knife and Dean's Desert Eagle. No matter how much his brother loved that gun, it wasn't usually Sam's first choice of weapon since they were prone to misfire. He decided to risk that for the immense firepower the gun could deliver. And this one at least wouldn't misfire; it _was_ Dean's gun, after all.

Slipping to the rear entrance, Sam hoisted himself up onto the platform and sidled down the back wall of the building toward the loading bay doors, growing more and more conscious of a rhythmic noise. The service road was still clear ashe stepped around the corner, gun up, scanning. The noise was the loading bay doors sliding open, then closing halfway, sliding open, closing halfway, open… Nothing but the door was moving. He looked down.

Dean. On his back, pressed up against the door frame, left arm splayed out in the track. The door had been opening and closing on his hand, over and over, for who knew how long.

Sam darted forward, swinging a box from a pallet into the doorway. He knelt down next to his brother and, as gently as he could, lifted Dean's hand out of the groove, hissing at the bloody mess the door had made of it.

"Dean, hey. I'm here." Sam grazed a thumb over Dean's forehead, brushing beads of sweat from the clammy skin. When he found it, Dean's pulse was strong and steady, and Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. There were bruises coming up everywhere skin was visible.

It was hard to see from the bright illumination outside into the dimly-lit backroom but when his eyes adjusted, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat. Dean had said a big snake, but Sam hadn't expected anything like this. It was gargantuan.

It was a monster.

He glanced down at his brother before reluctantly standing and stepping inside to turn the door control to "Off." As he approached the snake, he could see the head had been butchered off its body, and it was riddled with bullet holes and crossbow bolts.

He reached out to touch a scale, maybe to prove the existence of such a thing with more than one sense, when his foot slipped. The floor wasn't in shadow as he had thought; it was covered in a black pool of blood. The smell suddenly hit, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. The storage room doors were open, and out on the sales floor proper, the snake's body coiled around itself in the wreckage of the store. The tip of its tail was hooked over a shelf and the white and black rings and a series of rattles as long as his arm, maybe longer, were clearly visible.

Unnerved, Sam moved back to his brother and pushed the box away from the door before kneeling again. He pulled Dean up and leaned him back against the door frame. Dean's Colt was in his right hand, and Sam tugged at it.

Tapping Dean's cheek, he called, "Dean, wake up!" There was a small bump on his head, and Sam's quick check of Dean's arms and legs for breaks came up clean. "I need you to help me get you out of here. Can you walk? They'll be coming in the front door soon." He thought he saw something, and pulled Dean's shirt away from his body. The t-shirt underneath was soaked with blood. "What happened to your side?"

There was noise toward the front of the store. This time he slapped Dean's face hard. "You've got to wake up!"

Dean's head jerked and he took a deep breath before groaning.

Sam slapped him again. "Open your eyes!" He pulled Dean's fingers away from the gun and stashed it in the waistband of his jeans next to the Eagle.

Dean took another noisy breath. "Quit hitting me." His eyes cracked open. "Big, um, fucking snake…hit me enough for one day." He hissed when he moved his arm, then looked blearily at his hands. "Why'm I bleeding? And where's my gun?"

"I have it. We need to move."

"S'awright. Stay. Evr'one saw snake. I'm a hero. Killed it."

"Too many questions, dude."

Heaving Dean upright, he braced him against the door frame until he steadied on his feet. "Can you walk?" Sam dragged his brother's arm over his shoulders, wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, and took a step. "Move your legs, bro, don't make me drag you." Dean's head came up, and this time when he took a step, Sam got some help. "See, there you go. Walk. Help me out here."

"Helpin'. Things aren't working too well. Sam?"

"Yeah, me. Keep walking."

"Not feeling great."

"I guessed that much." Sam adjusted his grip and dragged Dean another few feet. "I have to get you over a fence, and then you can rest while I get the car."

"A fence is bad."

"Yeah, but I'm good. I'll figure it out."

"Such a," Dean drew in a hitching breath, "a smartass. You're a smartass." His legs were moving, but he was still heavy on Sam's shoulder.

There was a steep but mercifully short incline just in front of the perimeter. The fence was shorter than both of them, but there really wasn't much he could do to make this any easier.

"Dean, I'm going to help you, okay?" He brought Dean's arm around his head, and set his good hand on the metal. "Grab the wire and get to the top. I'll climb over and get you down on the other side." Sam looked back at the store, then at his brother. Dean's hand was still laying flat on the tube running along the top of the fence. "Dean? What's the matter? Climb. Now."

Dean grimaced, but he reacted to Sam's voice as he would have for Dad's. He latched onto the tube and jammed the toe of his boot into one of the links. "I got it, I got it."

When Dean leaned back suddenly, Sam braced him with one shoulder. "I'm going to help you up." He laced his fingers around Dean's left foot and lifted "Can you straddle it?"

Dean nodded and slowly got his right leg over. "Straddling."

Sam checked behind him a last time, and vaulted over easily.

"Not straddling."

He dove and caught Dean's shoulders and torso, staggering backward to bring Dean's left leg over the top. Once he had Dean untangled and upright, Sam was able to move him to the access road. Dean sank to his knees, then down flat on his back, his bleeding hand tucked under his right arm.

"Hang on, I'm going to bring the car."

They both heard a rustling sound, and Sam jumped when Dean's hand landed on his forearm.

"Make sure not snake."

It took a minute, but he saw it and smiled. "Roadrunner." Setting Dean's hand down, Sam stood and stretched. "Are you going to be okay for a minute? I need to get the car."

Dean blinked at him. "Go."

Sam sprinted to the Nissan and brought the car as close to his brother as he could. Dean was too big to be a rag doll, but that's all Sam could think of as he manhandled him up and into the car. "Try to walk a little bit."

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed loudly. "Not movin' too good." One leg moved slightly forward.

Sam pulled and pushed until he could drop Dean into the front bucket seat. When he pulled the lever to drop the seat back, Dean grunted.

"What?"

"Dizzy."

By the time Sam got around and behind the wheel, Dean's eyes were open and he was touching the seat.

"Where's m'car?"

"Still at WalMart. I'll get it later." He started the engine and drove back to the motel, doing his best to project innocent bystander as he drove past the emergency vehicles clustered in the store's parking lot. The Impala was parked well away from the action at the front doors. "The car's fine. No one's near her."

His worried gaze kept returning to his brother. As he turned back onto Berry, he could see Dean's eyes were squeezed shut and he was pressing his elbow against his side. Sam kept pushing the accelerator until they arrived at the motel. It was still light and no one was watching as he jerked Dean up and over his shoulder, and staggered to their room.

By the time he got to the door, opened it, and hoisted Dean up long enough to drop him onto his bed, Sam was breathing like a bellows. Once the first-aid kit was open on the nightstand, he got Dean up to sit on the side of the mattress so he could remove his shirts. Bruises arched over his back and chest but none of his ribs felt broken. Sam found a round puncture wound in Dean's side but no exit wound on his back. The hole wasn't deep, but it was bleeding sluggishly. Sam sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

"Dean." He shook his brother, and shook him again. "Listen to me. Is this a bite from that snake?" Sam cupped Dean's chin in one hand, using the other to hold his brother upright. "Did the snake bite you?"

"Hmm?" Dean's eyes moved under the lids.

"Damn it, Dean, did the snake bite you?"

"Little bit." Dean opened his eyes and reached out with his left hand, then drew it back with a hiss. "Wanna pillow. Need to lie down."

"How does a snake bite you a _'little bit_'?" Sam rubbed his eyes. "Sorry I yelled. What happened?" Dean had found a pillow and was laboriously pulling it toward him. "Dean, you can lay down after you tell me about the bite."

"Bite? Jus' a graze. Woulda missed me enter, en…" Dean licked his lips slowly. "Entirely. Woulda missed me _entirely_ but I tripped. Cupcake." He sighed and looked at Sam. "Can I lay down now? Be ready to go. Few hours."

"Yeah, right, a 'graze.' And you won't be able to go in a few hours. But you can lay down now." Sam pulled Dean's legs onto the bed and treated the bite quickly with soap and holy water and a gauze packing, wincing every time Dean hissed or twitched. He cleaned Dean's hand and wrapped it loosely in a towel, and almost ran to the laptop.

Three minutes later, Sam was out the door and in the Nissan, peeling out of the motel and turning south on Berry Avenue.

Xxxxxxxxx

CroFab, like any antivenin, was expensive. So expensive, in fact, that at hospitals, it was locked up with the Schedule 1 drugs. At the closed vet's office, it was a simple matter of breaking in, picking one lock, and helping himself. Sam took all but two vials of their supply, as well as several bags of Ringers, some needles, and tubing.

Setting up the IV and getting the first dose ready to administer took thirty long minutes. It would have been sooner but he had to reconstitute the medicine and "avoid foaming." He thought Dean was out cold, but inserting the needle forced a hitched breath and a hiss of pain out of his brother. Dean didn't open his eyes, but his arm jerked.

"Just an IV. Hold still." Sam read over the directions again and added the recommended dose of CroFab to the IV. When he was satisfied there were no immediate signs of an allergic reaction, he increased the dosage and carefully added the first of three more vials. Irrigating the bite again got a groan out of Dean, but he didn't react as Sam carefully dried and bandaged the wound, before cleaning and bandaging the torn up hand. It wasn't as bad as he had first thought. It was going to hurt like a bitch, but it would heal well.

Sam wouldn't know if the antivenin was working for hours, and tried to fill the time with research and reading, but he was too anxious. He paced, checked on the IV, stared at the laptop screen, tried to read, paced, added more CroFab as directed, talked through his leads on nāgasand the ashram with his unconscious brother, paced outside, drank coffee, and checked the wound for infection twice, before finally throwing his book across the room. After another check on the IV, Sam roused Dean long enough to tell him he would be right back, tucked Dean's phone into his good hand, and slipped out the door.

The WalMart lot was quiet. Sam parked the Nissan behind a group of buildings, wiped it down, and walked to the Impala. Unlocking the car and driving away didn't raise any attention. After a quick stop at an all-night grocery store for supplies, Sam got back to the motel. Dean was still asleep.

Sam sat on Dean's bed while he waited for another pot of coffee to brew. It had been over five hours, almost six, and he needed to drive to the ashram tonight. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands for a moment.

He hadn't fallen asleep, really, but a small noise behind him brought his head up with a jerk. Dean had moved his arm and his cell phone had dropped to the floor.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam laid his hand on Dean's forehead. No fever. There was no additional bleeding, and no swelling at the wound site. No necrosis. And he was still breathing. All excellent signs. "Dean, wake up."

"Time t'go?" Dean opened unfocused eyes and tried to push himself up on one arm.

"You're staying here."

"Hell no. Going with you." His hand found Sam's forearm and latched on with some strength. "Help me up. I'm fine."

"You've got to be kidding. You couldn't walk a few hours ago. The venom is a paralytic agent."

Dean used Sam's arm to lever himself up. "I'm moving now." He rubbed his eyes before squinting at his bandaged left hand and the IV in the crook of his right elbow. "Take this out."

"I'll just be putting it back in." Giving Dean a pad to hold on his elbow, Sam removed the needle and neatly wrapped up the tubing. "You can come if you can get to the car on your own. If not, I'm hooking that back up and starting two more vials of CroFab."

Dean raised an eyebrow, smiled, and raised the other. "I'll make it to the car." He quirked up one side of his mouth. "Crow-fab? Sounds like an emo-band."

Too late, Sam wondered why he hadn't taken off Dean's boots. As it was, Dean was able to get upright and steady his legs. He looked down at himself.

"Bring a couple of shirts for me." Though he lurched a bit at first and used the wall to stay upright, he got to the door, opened it, and headed out, grunting in pain when he stumbled on the doorsill. "You coming, Samantha?"

Sam packed what he needed in the cooler, picked up the keys, a t-shirt and over-shirt out of Dean's duffel, and followed his brother's weaving progress to the car. Once he'd helped Dean lift his legs into the car and pull on his t-shirt, Sam closed the door, dropped the cooler in the trunk, and got in himself. "You're going to stay in the car when we get to the ashram."

"Mm-hmm." Dean was leaning back, eyes closed.

Pulling onto Berry south to Third Street, Sam took a right to merge onto 40. "Did you know this is part of the old Route 66?"

Dean rolled his head and opened one eye. "Of course I do. We drove 66 years ago."

"I don't remember."

Dean yawned. "Dude, that's because you were sitting in the back with your nose stuck in a book your entire formative years." He rolled his head back and sighed. "Dad and I never figured out why you weren't hunchbacked and blind by the time you were ten."

"I sat in the back because you never let me have shotgun." Sam had wanted that to sound matter-of-fact, but he sounded petulant, even to himself. Clearing his throat, he repeated, "You'll stay in the car. Promise me."

When his brother didn't answer, Sam glanced over. Dean was asleep, mouth hanging open, his body swaying with the car's movements. He probably wouldn't wake up until tomorrow morning when they were safely back in Winslow.

"At least I read." And that sounded even more childish. Sam sighed and brought the Impala up to cruising speed.

* * *

TBC Friday


	4. Waiting for the sound of wings

Herewith the conclusion. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted and fav'd.

* * *

Dean mumbled something when Sam pulled him away from the passenger door and helped him lie down on the front seat, but he didn't wake up, even when Sam closed the door with its inevitable creak and thunk.

He took one last look as he left the car. Dean had turned onto his uninjured side and curled one arm under his head. Sam'd rolled the windows halfway down, not wanting to roast Dean alive when the sun came up, set Dean's cell phone alarm to ring at nine, protected the car, and left a note. Check, check, and check.

The ashram was less than a mile away, and the night was cool and crisp. Sam knew what he had to do, when he had to do it, and how. He couldn't be more prepared unless he'd rolled his brother up and stuck him in the duffel for backup.

And there was a large part of him that wanted to do just that. Maybe he should wait until Dean was recovered enough to come with him. He stood for a moment, reconsidering his decision to do this tonight, but finally starting walking. It needed to be done before Nāga Panchamī, and before anyone else, including his brother, died.

Heaving the duffel over the property fence, he followed it easily to drop silently on the grounds. The next half-hour was spent investigating the ashram to find a suitable site for the ceremony. The huge mandala near the main entrance was stunning, even when lit by the weak light of the quarter moon, and would be an excellent setting. He unpacked the duffel and began setting up the wards and the ceremony to summon Garuda, the half-man, half-eagle warrior demigod of the _Mahabharata_.

Sam concentrated and chanted slowly, staring unblinking at the moon until his eyes watered. Bending down, he lit beeswax candles and started the ceremony, chanting constantly. Closing his eyes, he pictured eagles, eagles flying with snakes writhing ineffectually in huge talons. Pictured the mile-wide wings of a demigod, banking and breaking, and coming to rest in a swirl of wind and sand. Pictured Garuda landing on the mandala.

Thought about his brother, back in the car. _Damn it_. He opened his eyes in frustration at the break in his concentration.

And discovered the mandala was covered in snakes. None too close—his wards were holding—but they were everywhere: native rattlesnakes, Nāga Devatas in the shape ofcobras, and other nāgas in serpent shapes he couldn't identify. Atavistic fear sent a prickle up his spine. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

He found the pace and rhythm, found the words, and chanted. He chanted for the lives of the victims, for John Smith, carrying snake bones and an infinitesimal ruby to his death, and he chanted for Dean, wide-eyed, watching golden eagles wheel over the road more closely than he watched the road itself. He chanted to bring Garuda to Arizona, to subdue and defeat the nāgas and the people who used them.

The first blow didn't register. The second made him crack his eyes and chant louder.

A man and a woman stood in front of him, chanting in a staccato counterpoint to his own voice. The woman's arms were raised over her head, but the man held a long pole. When the man swung the pole again, Sam brought his arms up and blocked it, but it felt like he was underwater, heavy and uncoordinated. He chanted, wishing Dean would magically appear out of the duffel and stand between him and the pole when it connected with his biceps again.

Raising his voice, Sam called Garuda down to feast on his enemies. To take the snakes in his immense talons and eviscerate them. Behead them. Skin them. Sam chanted, waiting for the sound of wings from above.

Suddenly, the world went white. The tiny quarter moon flared brighter than the sun, bleaching color out of the landscape and buildings, and leaving a stark black and white snapshot of the scene seared into his eyes.

The swami of the ashram was on the mandala—wide eyes, flying white hair, white robes swirling around him—gesturing with arms like snakes, boneless and supple. There were snakes at his feet, coiling and swaying, following the motion of his arms with their bodies, The man, pole forgotten, and the woman were moving as if entranced, following the swami's gestures with intent eyes.

It was something Sam was sure he would never forget as long as he lived. He just hoped that would be more than the next few minutes.

* * *

Dean woke up slowly. There was an alarm going off. He dragged his tongue across his teeth and yawned.

"Sam, turn that off." His eyes felt gummy when he cracked them open. Not in the motel in bed. It was the front seat of the Impala. The alarm was his phone. Groaning, he brought it up to his face and jammed at buttons until the noise stopped. At least he could see a little better than last night. The sun was well up in the sky, the light just starting to creep past the dash and into his face. He knuckled his eyes and squinted at the phone to read the alarm message.

COME FIND ME. S.

Now why would Sam need finding? Dean groaned again. Sam must have snuck off to the ashram without backup, the little shit, leaving his brother behind like a snoring sack of potatoes. And he wasn't back. Dean blinked a couple of times but he still couldn't read the time on the phone. After he dragged his left arm up and hit his bandaged hand against the steering wheel, he found he could read his watch just fine. It was nine. He'd been asleep for hours while Sam was fighting giant snakes. Crap. Dean thumbed speed dial one and got Sam's voice mail. Double crap.

Sitting up, he spotted a bottle of water on the floor in front of the passenger seat and drained it before he realized how much pressure was already on his bladder. He had to pee even before he went to collect his brother.

Getting out the car was a bitch, his left hand useless, and it left him clinging to the door until the vertigo passed. When he felt steady, he shook his right leg experimentally, and it moved. The left leg moved, too. Not as fast as he would like, but enough to get him far enough away from the car, and the road Sam had parked on, to take a leak in relative privacy behind a cactus.

On his way back to the car, he glanced around for a street sign or landmark. He stopped when he noticed a neat ring on the ground, made up of some kind of powder, or pellets maybe, circling the car. It took a few seconds to spot a stack of empty snake repellent boxes. Laughing, he climbed back into the car, reaching for the keys hanging in the ignition. The Impala came alive with a rumble.

There was a piece of paper tented on the dash. On the front, in Sam's handwriting, he read, TO FIND ME. Flipping the paper open, he squinted and read, END OF THE BLOCK, TAKE A RIGHT. TWO BLOCKS, LEFT. ASHRAM ON RIGHT. Sam wasn't anything if not obsessively thorough. He must have figured he had this in the bag. So why wasn't he answering his phone? Dean gunned the engine as his anxiety started to mount, and he almost missed the stop sign at the end of the block.

The ashram's gate was wide open, when before he'd had to enter through a door inset in the fence a few yards down. Skidding through the gate and onto the grounds, he slewed to a stop on top of a large expanse of tile. He pulled himself from the car, and walked a little unsteadily until he could lean back against the wall of the closest building.

The place was a disaster. Smoke was rising from somewhere farther back on the property and paper and litter were scattered all over the grounds. He blinked and squinted. There were some clothes, a sandal here and there, and near his feet were trampled flowers and beads. Triple crap. His little brother may have bitten off more than he could chew.

Leaning his head back, he shouted, "Sam!" Dean launched toward the next structure, steadying himself along a railing until he reached another wall. He inspected the new vista. More of the same Sam-free landscape. He called again, louder this time, and heard something to his right. There was an open area and a fountain back that way, if he remembered correctly. Shouting, "Sam, I'm coming," he started forward, feeling pretty steady on his feet by the time he came through a vine-covered arch and entered the fountain square.

There was a white-haired man in front of the fountain, sitting cross-legged with his back to Dean. Squinting, he looked around the courtyard until he finally saw a large, very familiar shape over against the far wall.

Sam.

Dean sighed in relief and angled in that direction. As he passed the fountain, he was able to see the seated guy up close, and stumbled a few steps to the side.

It was the maharaja guy—the swami from the flyers. His eyes were closed, he was smiling beatifically, and in each outstretched hand, he was holding a bowl of milk. And he was covered in snakes. They were wrapped around his hands and arms, drinking the milk, coiling in his lap, threading through his loose hair, and moving in and out of his clothing. Dean watched as more and more of the creatures appeared to be paying attention to him rather than to the milk. In fact, when he lifted a foot to take a step, a couple of serpents slithered up to his boot. He froze in place, looking a little desperately toward his brother. He finally saw Sam move. "You okay?"

Sam waved at him.

The swami's eyes opened and he looked up at Dean. "All is fine here now." He held out one of the bowls of milk. "Make an offering."

"What?" Keeping his eyes on a healthy looking coral snake winding around his ankle, he shook his head. "I need to get to my brother."

"There is time. Your brother is fine. He, too, made an offering, but for you," his eyes seemed to pierce right through Dean's skull, "for you, it is vital. They must all know you."

"You're sure they aren't mad about the," he made a sweeping gesture with both arms, "the big one?"

The swami only closed his eyes and pushed a bowl closer to him. "It is Nāga Panchamī. You offer milk."

Dean took the bowl slowly, then walked carefully to the fountain and sat on the rim. He held it several inches away from his leg and waited. The snakes responded almost immediately. To his intense relief, none of them tried climbing his leg, but instead scaled the side of the fountain to reach the bowl. He touched one or two as they slithered near him, fascinated at how smooth and warm they were.

After a few minutes, most of the animals had returned to the swami. Dean quietly set the bowl down, and began threading his way past another dozen serpents sunning in the courtyard. Reaching the far wall, he put his back against it, and slid down to sit next to Sam, elbowing his brother's ribs. "Came. Found you. Hell of a lot of snakes." Sam nodded but didn't speak. Dean's heart rate suddenly increased. "Are you all right?" He leaned forward to check, but instead ended up closing his eyes and grunting when pain from the wound in his side sliced through him front to back. He put a hand over the bandage and pushed. He _was_ better, damn it. He opened his eyes to see Sam right in his face.

"Dean, what? Is the bite bleeding again?"

He leaned back with a sigh of relief. "Are you okay? Why were you just sitting here?"

Sam rubbed his head and looked at Dean kind of sheepishly. "I'm fine. Only been sitting down for a few minutes. And it was almost nine. I figured I'd wait for you." He pulled Dean's hand away from his side and lifted his shirt.

"Dude. We're in public."

Sam smiled a little. "Just us and the swami. Everyone else ran. I need to clean and bandage this again."

"Was there a bad guy? A bad chick? A big bad snake? A giant bird-man?"

Sam hesitated. "Bad guy and chick. One of the nāgas was as big as the one at WalMart." He shook his head slowly. "I never did see Garuda. Once the swami found out what was happening, he helped me. When we broke the spell, the nāgas doled out their own kind of punishment. The bad guys are very dead." Sam waved toward an arch inset in a wall a few feet away. "Through there. I wouldn't look if I were you."

"We should probably get out of here."

"Yeah, but we're okay. The swami will vouch for us." Despite what he said, Sam clambered to his feet, stretched, and took a step forward. "Come on." When Dean didn't move, Sam looked back.

Dean had to crane his neck to look up into his face. "I could use some help."

Sam grasped his forearm and leaned back, bringing Dean up off the ground. "How are you?"

"Better."

"How much better?"

"Not very. But hey, I got here without hitting anything."

"Vision blurry? Dizzy?"

"Not enough to bother me." He took a step and had to grab Sam's arm to keep upright. "Just get me out of here."

Sam stopped to talk to the swami, bowing slightly. Dean watched and did his best not to lean against him, or fall over. When Sam was done, Dean thanked the man for saving his brother's life. The swami waved as they left the courtyard, trailing snakes in the air around his arm.

When they reached the car, Sam made a _tsking_ noise. "You drove on the grass? And parked on the big meaningful expensive mandala?" He bent down and collected his duffel.

Dean laughed. "Told you we needed to go."

When he headed for the driver's door, Sam redirected him to the back passenger door and held out his hand for the keys. "Don't argue about this. Get in."

Dean hesitated a moment, but grudgingly sat in the back. He heard Sam open the trunk, then he reappeared with the cooler.

"Hold out your left arm."

Dean stared at bag of saline. "You didn't. I'm better."

"You're better but not well. And I'm sure you'll be fine, but just in case, I want you to have the full dose of CroFab. That's two vials now, and maybe more later."

Sam set up the IV faster than Dean believed possible, hooking the bag on a clothes hanger, then setting the hanger on the clothes hook over the back door.

Once he'd retrieved the first-aid kit from the front seat, Sam tapped the inside of Dean's elbow to bring up a vein. Satisfied, he swabbed Dean's elbow with alcohol.

"Couldn't you put it in my hand?" Dean heard himself whining and blushed. "Doesn't hurt as much."

"Yeah, if I were a nurse or a doctor. I learned elbow, from you I might add, and that's what you get." He looked back and tapped the arm again, re-swabbed it, and slid the needle in before Dean could twitch. Once everything was taped down, Sam packed up the supplies. Before he returned the cooler to the trunk, he dropped a couple of bottles of water on the front seat. This time, he closed the trunk and came back with a pillow and threw it in Dean's lap. "Put your feet up and lay back on this."

Sam closed the door, and Dean leaned back as instructed, closing his eyes. He heard another door open and felt his legs being lifted and put on the seat. He muttered a thanks. When he heard Sam get in behind the wheel, he cracked his eyes open. "Anything else, Boss Sam?"

"Not from you."

Dean watched him fiddle with some bottles. "That the Crow stuff?"

"Yeah, I'll put it in your IV in a minute. It'll be finished by the time we get to the motel." Sam opened a bottle of water and handed it to him along with a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment. "You'll probably need these."

Dean put on the shades and closed his eyes again, drifting for a few minutes. Once the car was on the road, he pulled himself awake and craned to look out the window. "Hey, Sam." His voice still wasn't loud enough. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time thumping the back of the front seat with his hand. His left hand… "Ow. Fuck that hurt. Sam!"

"Dean? What? Are you okay?" Sam pulled to the side of the road, moving his head back and forth so quickly, it almost made Dean feel dizzy. The car stopped, and Sam was around and heaving the door open.

"I'm okay."

Sam was checking the IV. "Is it the bite? Do you need more pain meds for that?" He reached for Dean's forehead. "Do you have a fever? Feel nauseated?"

Dean waved him off. "Sam, I'm really okay. Just wanted to ask a question."

Sam leaned back and sat on the door frame as best he could. "Sure, Dean, what?"

"Can we stop at the rockslide place on the way back?"

"No, we cannot stop at the park." Sam stood and slammed the door behind him. He walked around and got back in the car. "I thought something was wrong, and you want to go on a water ride." Sam huffed and got the car back on the road. He looked back, smiling a little. "What are you? Seven?"

"There's a big apple orchard." Dean couldn't help yawning. "Maybe they have pie."

"Yeah, and there could be scarecrows, too. I'm still not stopping. We'll get pie in Winslow. You'll be asleep in five minutes, Dean, and you'll forget this conversation ever took place."

Dean let all his muscles relax and took a deep breath. Sam was wrong about one thing: he was going to be asleep in about thirty seconds. If Sam said anything else, he didn't hear him.


End file.
